


Not A Date

by cunttwatula (mindlessadri)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3444791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindlessadri/pseuds/cunttwatula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armin and Jean are not on a date but maybe they should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not A Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Watergirl1968](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watergirl1968/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Toni!  
> Sorry I'm late but I didn't know until the night before!  
> Thank you for being the biggest push to finish What Grows in Winter and keep going with it.  
> Had I had more notice it would have been better. OTL

There is a definite chill in the night air as Armin makes his way on the scarcely lit path to the park. By day it doesn’t seem far, maybe a quarter mile at most. By night; when the wind flare of the desert roughly attacks the branches of the trees, that didn’t quite die in winter, and the shadows look like inky demon tendrils at his feet, it seems much farther.

Armin sucks in a sharp breath when he hears what he swears, in his overactive imagination, are footsteps behind him. He increases his pace and clutches the phone in his pocket tighter.

He chastises himself as he becomes more convinced this is how he will die. Images of his abandoned bedroom come to mind and he can’t help but think about how his parents will find it empty in the morning. He hadn’t even left a note. Something like: Sorry parentals. Teenage hormones. High school angst. Love, Your super homo son - Armin.

The footfalls stop and in a moment of bravery he chances a glance behind himself. His eyes go wide when he recognizes the neighborhood stray.The dog had just stopped to lay down in the middle of the path after deciding Armin wasn’t interesting enough to follow. Relieved, Armin relaxes his shoulders and laughs.

Not tonight death!

Suddenly there are hands on his ribs acting as if the bones there were piano keys and he screams. It’s undignified and loud in the chill spring night. On reflex his hand bunches into a fist and he swings blindly at his attacker. Sheer luck has it that his punch lands square in the jaw of the assailant.

The figure, because that’s all he sees, crouches and holds his jaw. “I give! I give! Jeez, ‘Min.” He stands, all shoulders and limbs and suddenly Armin recognizes him.

“Jean? Oh God. Jean, are you okay?” Armin steps closer to peer up at Jean’s jaw which he flexes. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean - I didn’t know.” Armin sputters before settling on, “Sorry.”

Jean waves it off. “I’m the one that scared you. I should have been prepared for the consequences.” He stretches his jaw again. He doesn’t taste blood which is good but there’s a solid sting across the lower left of his chin. “That’s a mean right hook, though.”

Armin beams. “Coming from you that’s a compliment.”

“I could help you perfect it if you want.”

Armin walks around him in the direction on the park. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.” Jean follows him and it makes him feel powerful. Almost seductive. “What are we doing tonight?”

“Um,” Jean laughs a little.

Armin turns at the mouth of the path and grins. “Please tell me I did not risk life and limb to come out tonight and you got nothing.”

“Life and limb? I think you’re exaggerating.”

He shrugs. “Not by much. Were leaving at five in the morning for the long weekend. My parents will kill me if I’m not home by four when they wake up.”

Jean does the math in his head. That’s five hours from now that he has to make sure Armin is home. “You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

Jean takes the lead and Armin follows admiring the logo of the gym Jean goes to for training on the back of his hoodie. They walk immediately to the opposite side of the park where a Ford Galaxy is sitting. Armin knows shit about cars. He only knows the make and model thanks to his love of old movies and that saves him. “Ford Galaxy?”

“Yep, 1970.” Jean smiles wide. “Me and my pop are working on her. We’re almost done. Just the paint really. I’m torn between the classic blue and something a little more modern like a finished green.”

Armin smiles because he does care but he’s not sure how to respond. It looks like junk to him. Internally he kicks himself for having a crush on a guy who’s straight until proven to be gay (or maybe bi, or maybe bi-curious; he’ll take anything), does MMA fighting which he doesn’t understand the appeal of, and likes old cars. If he had been intending to fuck himself he could of at least grabbed a smaller stick. But he hadn’t and here he is going on a not-date with Jean, the MMA fighting, old car fixing, straight boy.

Realizing he’s supposed to say something Armin throws his arms away slightly. “It looks great.”

Satisfied, Jean remembers they are supposed to be getting in the car and jogs to the other side. He slides into the driver seat and leans across the stick shift to unlock Armin’s door. It isn’t until Armin is staring at the bucket seat that Jean even thinks to clear away his shit from the passenger side; books, bookbag, gym bag, protein mixing bottle. He sees Armin looking at the floor of the car and they lock eyes. “It’s a mess. Sorry. I, um, I guess I didn’t really think to clean it because I wanted to be on time.”

Armin plays with the two studs on the right side of his lip and smirks. Jean’s car is full of trash. Mostly fast food bags. He wonders how many calories Jean must burn at the gym for him to be able to eat this much junk and still look that good. As if reading his mind Jean and him lock eyes again just as Jean says “I work out a lot.”

Jean starts the car and Armin watches him switch into first as they pull out into the street. He doesn’t drive. Doesn’t need to because he lives two minutes from the high school they both attend. When Jean drives he runs his index finger over the lines on the gear shift.

“Um, music?” Armin tries to fill the silence that’s fallen over them.

Jean’s eyebrows go high like he can’t believe he hadn’t thought of that himself. “Oh yeah!” He finds the volume and, forgetting how sensitive it is, cranks it too high. Spanish blares out of the speakers and from the corner of his eye he sees Armin physically jump in his seat. Almost second to that he notes how small Armin seems as he presses himself into the corner where the large bucket seat meets the door. “Sorry!” Jean screams over the mariachi.

Armin’s heart resets itself once the music is at an acceptable level then he’s laughing. Not even five minutes ago he’d been convincing himself Jean was too cool to be hanging out with him. Really, though, Jean was just a huge dork who ate junk food and got so embarrassed he fumbled with the volume dial.

Jean feels the heat in his face and scrunches his nose in retaliation as Armin doubles over. “Are you laughing at my choice of music?”

“No!” Armin’s clutching his sides and he can’t stop laughing.

Feeling confident Jean continues. “That’s the sound of my people!” Armin laughs harder while waving Jean off.

“I’m not laughing at that! I swear!” Armin tries to defend himself and takes large calming breaths. “It’s just,” he pauses, one last giggle escapes him. “You’re so cool and the whole volume thing was just this huge juxtaposition to that!”

Jean shifts to second. “Woah there. We don’t all have that big of a vocabulary.”

“You don’t know what juxtaposition means?”

“No. I do. But I wouldn’t know how to just drop it conversation and it sound natural.”

Armin blushes. “I read a lot,” he defends. He rolls his tongue over his studs. “Can I change the station?”

“You can try but the radio is old. It’s super sensitive. Gotta hit just the right spot.”

He doesn’t think, just says. “I’m an expert in hitting the right spot.”

Jean can feel his heart freeze and sink in his chest and, dammit, he doesn’t understand how Armin can be so fucking cute but also say things like that. His mind is rushing a million miles a minute.

Armin isn’t even Jean’s type. Well, he is, but in the broadest sense. He likes cute faces. Armin has a cute face but that’s where it ends. He likes brunettes. No to mention super fit and lean guy or gals. Not that Armin isn’t fit, he’s seen him kick some ass in lacrosse, but he’s not the fit he usually goes for; the type with a defined stomach and a hardness to their body.

Plus Armin’s a different breed as far as high school stereotypes go. He wears band t-shirts and snug straight leg pants and ripped converse and, Jesus, does Jean want to run his tongue over the piercings on his bottom lip.

Then there’s the personality. Armin’s witty and brilliant and Jean, well he’s a fucking dork with no social grace.

“Got it!” Armin claps and looks to Jean as he cranks the volume on a popular rock station. Armin knows all the words to all the songs and shimmies in his seat the entire twenty-five minute drive.

They pull up to a restaurant on the southwest side of the valley and get out of the car. Armin reads the sign out loud. “I have like six bucks on me. I thought we were going to get drive through.”

“I’ll pay. I brought you without warning so it’s only fair.” Armin’s stare is dubious. “You can pay me back later if you want.”

“Fine,” Armin relents.

They seat themselves in a booth in the back and the waitress comes over smaking bubble gum and hair pulled into a bouncy ponytail. “Welcome to Fries and Shakes. What can I get started for you boys?”

Armin sets down his menu. “When you make the shakes do I get both halves? Like the part in the tin and the part in the glass?”

“Of course,” she smiles.

“I’ll have a chocolate shake.”

“And you?”

“Dr. Pepper.”

“I’ll be back with your drinks in a minute.”

Picking his menu back up to look at the food options Armin tries for conversation. “So is there a reason we drove across town to get food here.”

Jean hasn’t even picked up his menu. “Not food. Burgers. I swear they have the best burgers ‘Min.”

“I don’t know if I want a burger,” Armin teases and peeks over the top of the menu. Jean’s eyes are wide like he’s been slapped. Armin can’t help but smile, “Fine I’ll get a burger.”

“And fries.”

“And fries,” he agrees.

When the waitress comes back she sets down their drinks and winks at Armin. Jean thinks she’s probably only three years older than them. It’s still illegal but that doesn’t mean it would stop Armin. “What can I get you to eat?”

She only talks to Armin, Jean notes. He’s not jealous when he speaks, “I’ll have the Farm Burger and shoestring fries.” Armin looks at him from across the table and snorts.

“I’ll have the Western BBQ and sweet potato fries.” She leaves them. “Wow. She didn’t forget you were there, Jean.” Armin finds Jean reaction endearing but isn’t willing to call it anything. Maybe Jean thinks she’s cute and, god, why does this have to be so hard.

“I just -” Jean licks his lips. “Were here to eat. Not pick up girls.”

Armin nods to himself. “She’s not my type.”

“You have a type,” Jean sits up suddenly attentive.

He shrugs. “Not really. Just not her.”

Jean licks his lips. “You have somebody you like?”

“Yeah.” Armin pushes his hair behind his ear as the blood rises to his face. “What about you?”

“Yeah.”

They talk about Jean’s fight on Monday and Armin learns that despite his body Jean is rather average in the grand scheme of his sport. Jean tells him it’s not until nine so if Armin gets back early he could come see him get his ass kicked. Armin promises to try and get his parents to drive above the speed limit.

Armin’s talking about the lake they’re going to tomorrow and how they spend every President’s Day weekend there with his parent’s friends from college when the waitress comes back with their food.

“I can’t believe you got sweet potato fries and not real fries.”

“These are real fries,” Armin stuffs three in his mouth and grins because they are fucking delicious. Picking up his burger Jean chucks a single fries at him across the table.

“Boo! Shoestring fries for the win!”

Armin swallows and opens his mouth. This time Jean aims and it bounces off Armin’s cheek under the table. The third one, though, makes it and Armin chews it with pride. “Eh. It’s okay.” It’s actually really good but he’s not going to admit that. “My turn.” He flings a fry at Jean’s head and it hits him in the eye.  

“Ow,” Jean laughs but opens his mouth for the next one, which he catches on reflex.

“Impressive.” Armin takes a bite of his burger and his eyes roll back in his head. It really is the best burger. “Oh my fuck.”

Jean nearly chokes from laughter. Juices are dripping down Armin’s chin and he’s chewing like he’s forgotten they’re in public. “It’s good right?”

“It’s orgasmic,” he moans. They only thing to chase the flavor with is his shake. He takes a generous gulp. “Why is everything here so good?”

Jean shrugs. “Who knows. Maybe there’s drugs in the meat.”

Armin snorts. “Then call me an addict.” He takes a gigantic bite that nearly falls out of his mouth.

Grinning Jean reaches across the table with his fries and scoops some of Armin’s shake.

“What the hell! You heathen!”

Jean shrugs, “Tastes good. Try it.”

Rolling his eyes Armin dips his sweet potato fry into the shake. He’s not surprised it tastes good. Everything here tastes good. He swallows just as Jean leans over the table again. He prepares to defend his shake but instead Jean extends his arm and uses his thumb to wipe a bit of stray chocolate from Armin’s chin. Caught off guard, Armin can only stare as Jean sucks the shake from his finger.

Jean’s face turns red. “You left some behind.” They both laugh quietly, unsure and charged atmosphere between them.

They finish stuffing their faces and Jean pays at the counter.

When they get in the car Armin slumps down in his chair and pats his slightly engourged abdomen. “I gained ten pounds because of you.”

“Nobody forced those last twenty fries down your throat.”

Armin just taps a rhythm on his stomach. He watches the way Jean’s long fingers grip at the gear shift and move decisively to each new gear. “How?”

“How what?”

“How do you know when to shift?”

Jean thinks a moment. “Well you know when you’re driving an automatic and the engine changes under you when you get faster?”

Armin shakes his head. “I don’t drive.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

Jean scratches his neck. “I could show you.”

Armin sits up straight. “Really?”

“I mean we have a few more hours.”

The way Armin lights up makes Jean’s heart feel like a sparkler on the fourth of July; warm, fluttery, simple. He drives them back to their side of town and he spend twenty minute looking for a large enough parking lot that doesn’t look like it’s heavily monitored, lest they warrant cops and the punishment for breaking curfew.

As they drive the metal hour comes on and, to Jean’s astonishment, Armin can headbang to the point any normal person would have whiplash. He plants his feet firmly on the ground as some song by some band about bullets and valentines starts. When the guitar solo rolls around Armin whips his long hair around in a circle like he’s possessed. The blond mimes playing the guitar and Jean can’t help his smile.

Armin comes up for air, smiling. “I didn’t know you play guitar,” is all Jean can think to say. “I’ve only seen you with your violin case.”

“Viola and I don’t” Armin gasps. “I play bass. A little guitar I guess.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Between the violin and viola or the bass and guitar.”

“Both?” Jean looks out of the corner of his eye and parks the car, finally.

“Size and pitch. But bass and guitar?” Armin thinks then looks to Jean. “One’s a steady constant and the other is the pizazz.” He throws up  jazz hands for good measure.

They stare at eachother a moment as the music goes to commercial break. In the moment something passes between them. It travels softly in the cool night, lands in their lungs, and fills their blood with so much oxygen they are no longer really in Jean’s car but rather in the moment. It makes it hard to breathe, hard to move.

Armin sucks in a breath. “We should trade seats,” his voice is steady by force.

Jean nods and parrots the words back. They exit and pass each other at the hood of the car, pressed closer than strictly necessary.

Armin flexes his fingers over the wheel then looks to Jean, “Okay. How do I do this?”

Jean leans over the console, invading Armin’s space to point and explain what a clutch is and how it works to make the car go. Armin nods along, listening attentively. Jean sits back in his seat. “Ready to give it a go?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Armin does as Jean tells him. He lets off the clutch as he applies the gas and he bucks the car. Violently. “Oh my god. Is it supposed to do that?”

Jean thinks it’s fucking adorable the way Armin thinks he’s broken the car. “No, not really. But it happens when your learning. Getting it into first is the hardest part.” Armin doesn’t seem convinced. “Just try again.”

Still not fully convinced he tries again. They lurch again. He looks and even Jean seems surprised by the amount of lurching they just did. “Third times the charm?”

Armin nods and takes a deep breath. He goes through the motions. Car on. Clutch in. Apply gas. Let off clutch. And they roll forward.

“Holy shit.” Jean looks at the slowly moving pavement. “It took me a week to get into first!” Armin smiles, pleased with himself. “A fucking week Armin.”

Jumping in his seat Armin turns to Jean, “What now?”

“Um,” Jean licks his lips. “You could go a little faster. It’s a big parking lot.”

Armin applies more gas and the car speeds up.

Jean waits for it. He watches the RPM gage rise then the sound of his engine working hard without achieving more speed rumbles through the cab. “Okay, let off the gas a little.” Armin does as he makes a smooth u-turn. “Could you feel how the engine was trying to do more but it couldn’t?”

Armin nods.

“That means you have to switch gears.” A thought. “I’ll help you. Speed up again and when I say to let the clutch out.” He folds his hand over Armin’s and tries not to think too much about the red on the other’s cheeks; it probably matches his own. “Okay, now.” Armin let’s off  the clutch as Jean switches them into second.

Armin’s beaming. “Look! I got above twenty!”

“You’re a regular daredevil now,” Jean teases. “Let’s try a down shift.” He rubs his thumb of the back of Armin’s hand. “Slow down.” The blond does and Jean switches them to first.

They continue like that. Jean’s hand resting on Armin’s guiding him as high as second gear. Jean reclines in the passenger seat and watches Armin’s concentrated eyes. Eventually he feel sArmin taking the lead. Moving the gear shift up and down as he likes; but, he doesn’t shake Jean’s hand off and Jean doesn’t offer to take it away. Eventually Armin starts humming along to the radio.

“Do you do that a lot?” Jean asks.

Armin takes his eyes away from the parking lot. “What?”

“Hum.”

He’s afraid to look at Jean too long because Jean could tell him to stop the car and then his hand would be gone with the moment. “I guess.”

Jean makes an affirmative ‘mmm’ and runs his index finger over Armin’s exposed expanse of wrist. “It’s nice. Rhythmic. Like a car engine or boxing reps.”

Armin smiles to try and mask the fact his heart if flopping in his stomach. “Muscles and cars. Is that all you think about?”

“No,” Jean answers quickly. He swallows hard gathering every piece of courage he has. “I think about you.” The silence sends chills from his neck down his arms.

Armin brings the car to a stop. He’s too stunned to speak for a moment. Often in life when fantasy becomes reality there’s a let down some where. The let down here is that Armin is not as well spoken as the him in his fantasies. He has no confident sassy remark only the burning contact of Jean’s finger on his wrist. “I -” he begins. “I think about old movies. And music.” He swallows, “And you.”

They make eye contact and Jean has to look away because something’s exploded in his chest and he can’t stop smiling. Looking at Armin’s face makes him giggle because, well, sometimes that happens when things once hopeless actually succeed. Gathering himself he looks back at Armin. “Wanna lay on the hood of the car?”

Armin nods and they get out. From where they are they can’t see anything. The skyline isn’t in view and the stars are a lost cause in the city’s lights. It’s okay though. They scoot close to each other so they’re touching shoulders. Armin laughs as Jean tries to explain the finer details of Mexican-American culture, like the ever present bean skillet and the lack of forks in favor of tortillas. He’s surprised when it’s his turn and Jean asks about his interest in harder music. Jean stays attentive as Armin explains his teenage rebellion.

Jean checks his watch and notices it’s nearly time for Armin to be home. Cutting their conversation short they get in the car. Armin almost falls asleep as if that will make it so he doesn’t have to leave. Jean parks in the same place and they exit the vehicle.

The walk across the park is silent. They catch each other’s eyes and smile before looking away about a dozen times. They stop at the mouth of the path Armin took to get there.

“I’ll see you when you get back, right?” Jean asks as he scratches at his undercut.

“Of course.”

They stand there awkward and wanting. Armin knows he has to get back and well he’s tired so that will be his excuse if this goes badly. He pushes himself up on his toes and kisses Jean firmly on the mouth. It’s just a peck but he swears it feels longer. His heart is jumping and everything is perfect in that moment. His feet come back to ground. “Good night Jean.” He walks away and he feels like he’s living an 80s movie.

Jean can still feel the pressure of Armin’s lips and he has a singular thought. “Next time I’ll kiss you back!” He calls out not caring who hears. “Text me when you get home!”

Armin practically skips home. He falls into bed and he could be falling in love.


End file.
